


What the Morrow Brings

by Poohzhunny



Series: Blighted Fool [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Magical Accidents, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 16:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poohzhunny/pseuds/Poohzhunny
Summary: Part 3. The night before the final fight against Corypheus, Cullen musters the courage to visit the Inquisitor for what could be the last time. Echoes of in-game dialogue.





	What the Morrow Brings

Cullen followed the stairs up to the Inquisitor’s room, catching her gaze as he came up onto the rise. She stood at her desk, reading over correspondence while she sipped on a glass of amber liquid he assumed to be a whiskey of some kind. She wore a soft, high-collared blouse, buttoned up to her chin with a pair of casual breeches, her hair down for once, her thick mane crowning her face. “Cullen,” she exclaimed, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” She raised her glass up. “Would you like a drink?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise when he nodded and she moved to fill a glass while he waited by the desk. “No armour, now a drink? Should I be worried?” She grinned.

He took the cup from her and tasted the alcohol, enjoying the warmth as it slid down his throat. “Thank you. I wanted to see how you are holding up.” He could feel his nerves threatening to fail and he took a long sip.

She walked toward the open balcony door, nodding for him to follow and leaned on the railing with her elbows. She toyed with the glass, looking out at the mountains. “Honestly? I’m terrified.” She took a deep breath, letting her eyes close, and he watched the strain she hid so well every day come to the surface. The final battle was at hand, the culmination of years of effort and countless lives by the Inquisition and its allies, yet to him she’d never looked so alone.

He lay a hand on her shoulder. “The plan is sound, have faith in yourself. We know how to kill him now. Morrigan will hold up her end. Time and again you’ve faced challenges that everyone thought impossible, only to grow more determined. Corypheus didn’t know what he created when he faced in you in Haven.”

“What do you mean?”

He took another long swallow before answering. “He tried to destroy you, burning everything you fought for into ash, but it only made you stronger. Look at everything you’ve accomplished.” Her expression changed as he spoke, her brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“It’s just... a strange coincidence that you would use those words. The fire.”

“It is?”

“Do you not know how I came into my magic? I thought Leliana would have shared her findings about me with you and Josephine.”

“She shared only that you are the youngest Trevelyan, a mage in good standing from the Circle of Ostwick sent to the Conclave. The hope was your noble background might provide for some protection for the delegation from your Circle. Why?”

“I should be grateful she was discreet, I suppose. I was quite young. It was not a pleasant experience. I wouldn’t want to bore you, I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of stories just like this one.”

He nodded, smiling. “I have, but I’d like to hear yours.”

 

* * *

 

Evelyn ran from her brother as quick as her little legs could muster, giggling all the while as he swung his stick in her direction like a sword, hitting furniture left and right. The storm raged outside, wind and snow beating at the widows like wailing ghosts in the cold evening. Mother had gone down to the kitchen to see about tea and a treat for her youngest two children while they played, full of energy at the lack of outdoor time in the foul weather. The fire roared in the hearth; fresh logs had been placed to keep the room warm, and every time she passed the blaze, it seemed to stretch out toward her, dancing in the light with abandon, before recoiling once she moved away.

By the fourth pass, she stopped running altogether, her gaze fixed on the flames, hypnotized by their prancing. Her brother smacked the stick down on her arm, the loud slap drawing a gasp of pain from her. The sting brought tears into her eyes and he laughed at her. “Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t want to play anymore!” Her lip quivered as she rubbed the spot where the wooden stick had struck.

“Oh come on, Evvie!” Dylan pretended to stab around her through the air, finally missing his mark and poking her in the abdomen.

“Ow!” She slapped the branch away, taking a small step back, closer to the fire. “Go away!” The flames reached, her skin flush with the heat, but it didn’t burn yet. It felt good.

Dylan stomped his foot with a frown. “Stop being such a baby, it doesn’t hurt!” As though to illustrate his point, he brought the stick down to hit her in the arm again, and once more, down on her leg this time, leaving a red mark on the exposed calf below her skirt.

The third time the baton threatened to hit her, Evelyn scooped one of the flames from the hearth in her little hands and threw it at the wooden weapon in a fit. Dylan dropped his sword with a screech and it fell onto his sister, aflame now. She recoiled, too close to the hearth this time, and the cotton of her skirt caught fire. She screamed, tugging at her clothes in panic as she ran from the heat, but the blaze only grew, spreading through the fabric until it reached her skin. Her brother fled from the room and she tried to follow him down the hall in terror.

The pain reached its apex before the stairs. On the other side of the mansion, Bann Trevelyan dropped his quill and ran from his study at the sound of his child’s wails while Lady Trevelyan stormed up from the kitchen. She gasped in horror at the sight of her daughter aflame and ran to help her. She pulled and ripped the curtains from the window in a feat of strength and wrapped her child from head to toe, forcing her onto the floor to smother the fire. By the time her father reached them, the screaming had stopped. He fumbled at the thick covers to pull them over Evelyn’s head and allow her to breathe, his hands trembling, his own breath stuck in his chest.

Her face came into the light, eyes closed, but breathing. Carefully, they uncovered her little body to assess the injuries. From knee to collarbone, the right side of her body was blackened, down to her elbow, with areas near the char blistering and red. “We need a healer.” Lord Trevelyan demanded clean linens be placed on her bed before he lifted his daughter and moved her from the floor. He raced outside to saddle his horse, galloping out into the night to fetch a mage while his wife and nanny removed the burnt clothes from her body as best they could without causing further injury. She awoke once during the process, only to go into shock and lose consciousness once more, her face pale.

It took two days for Bann Trevelyan to return with a mage that had a chance to heal his daughter, as well as a duo of Templars who stood at the edge of the room, silent as the grave, observing the scene.

While the healer sat with Evelyn to begin the healing process, Lady Trevelyan leaned to her husband’s ear. “Why are they here?” She whispered.

“For the mage, I suspect.”

Dylan came into the room and clung to his mother’s skirts. She’d barely had time to tend to him over the past few days as Evelyn seemed to teeter on the verge of death at every moment. He cried, tugging on her clothes. “It wasn’t me, mother, I promise! She did it to herself.”

The Lord of the house knelt with a hand on his son’s shoulder. He was tired and ragged from the journey, but the relief at finding his daughter still alive had renewed him somewhat. “What are you saying, Dylan?”

“She threw the fire to burn my stick and it fell on her. I didn’t push her in, I swear!”

The Templars shifted their gazes to the young boy, suddenly at attention. Lady Trevelyan’s eyes grew wide and she moved closer to the bed, between her daughter and the armoured warriors. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying, she’s only five, she couldn’t possibly...”

The taller of the Templars took a step forward. Though he kept his manner calm, there was a sudden purpose to his posture. “Magic can manifest quite young, my Lady.” He turned to the mage who had stopped her spellcasting. A modicum of colour had returned to Evelyn’s cheeks, however her skin remained scarred, red, blistered and blackened in places. “How early can she be moved?” He asked.

The mage, a slim Elven woman, shrugged. “Tomorrow at best, though she’ll require healing on the way and a proper carriage to keep her from the elements. She will have scars, of course, but she is strong. She should make it.”

Lord Trevelyan walked over to stand with his wife, his expression pensive as he looked at his youngest. “Are you certain she is a mage?”

The Elf answered despite the question being directed at the Templar. “These burns are severe. From what you told me, the fire burned mere moments. This burned fast and fierce. It was directed... poorly, without understanding and ran out of control with her panic. Unfortunate.”

The Templar nodded. “Prepare her belongings and say your goodbyes. We leave on the morrow for the Circle.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, his head shaking in commiseration. Indeed, he’d heard plenty such stories in his time with the Templars, some of which with far more tragic endings, but this explained so much about Evelyn. “Five years old...”

She nodded, her eyes grave and a taut smile across her lips as she tugged at the collar of her blouse unconsciously. “Hadn’t you ever wondered why I’m always so incredibly stylish?” She shrugged with a nervous little laugh as her gaze scanned the horizon. “As you can imagine, fire was not my preferred element when I began to study magic in earnest. I focused on defensive and ice spells, eventually delving into the healing arts. At first, it was the desperate attempt of a growing teenager to heal her scars so she could be beautiful. Of course, it wasn’t possible, but eventually it became a passion. For so long, I was terrified of the harm magic could cause. Once I found the good it could do, I embraced it as a part of myself.”

“Siblings to have knack for bringing out the worst in ourselves sometimes.”

She laughed out loud. “That they do.”

“The day I left for Templar training,” he began to search his pockets, bringing out a coin, “my brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn’t give me.” He looked at the coin for a moment, remembering the day at the lake with his brother. On impulse, he reached out and took her hand, placing the coin in it. “Humour me. Just in case you need a little more luck on your side tomorrow. This can’t hurt.”

Her eyes shone as she looked up at him, her hand closing over the coin. She stood on her toes and leaned up slowly, a hand on his chest for balance and he froze in place. Her eyes closed, and she placed a soft, slow kiss on his cheek, lingering at the edge of his jaw while shivers ran through his body, and the scent of honey and lavender suffused his senses. “Thank you. I’ll keep it safe.”

Before she could drop back down onto her heels and he lost his nerve, he took her face in his hands, his lips closing the gap between them, tasting the alcohol on her tongue when it came to tickle his, teasing him gently. Light at first, asking her permission, the kiss deepened as she returned it. She pressed herself against him just as he wrapped her tighter in his arms, one of his hands sliding into her hair at the nape of her neck, and the light moan that escaped her throat spurred a low growl from his own, an echo of their long, unfulfilled desires. Time stood still as they lost themselves in each other, savouring the moment. Finally, he pulled away, allowing her to drop back onto her heels without letting her go quite yet. “That was... really nice.”

She cleared her throat, her eyes husky as she looked up at him. “It was. After the Winter Palace, I didn’t think you...”

He shook his head with a bashful sigh. “I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you on the battlefield at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Honestly, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. But we’d only just met.” He leaned his forehead onto hers. “And tomorrow, you ride out to face Corypheus. I wish there was more I could do.”

“This,” she grinned, “was all I needed.”


End file.
